Afloat
by Val-Creative
Summary: (Episode 3-centric.) Ma Costa knows this world. A world of old, creaking decks and steam whistles and traveling through the moorings. She looks after Lyra that night, telling her about Lord Asriel.


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Ma Costa knows this world. A world of old, creaking decks and steam whistles and traveling through the moorings.

She wouldn't trade it for anything.

In the distance, Kerim hops over his family's boat, gathering up loose ropes. His dark blue neckerchief gets adjusted by his gleaming, silver-ringed fingers. Haughty boy. Foolish. And then, she spies Farder Coram on the other side of the river, dusting off John Faa's hat. He inhales the chill night air deeply and regards the remote, bright dots of the landlopers' homes mistrustfully, whispering to Sophonax purring and resting atop his broad shoulder.

She can smell the frying oil and cooked eel with potato powder coming from Nicolas Rokeby's window. Her stomach gurgles faintly. But, thank goodness, Lyra remains fast asleep in Ma Costa's lap, bathing in the glowing naphtha lamps within the Zaal.

Her son Tony and Benjamin de Ruyter, across the platform, murmur gleefully to each other and exchange a brief, soft kiss.

They've not done a _proper_ job of hiding their relationship. That meant loads of teasing from the other gyptians, congratulating and drinkinh in their honour. MA Costa hasn't seen Tony this flustered and embarrassed since she caught him with Dirk Vries's middle child. A young woman with ruddy skin, a long, black braid and violet eyes. Very unusual but beautiful eyes. Some of the gyptians claim she's either fated to die a tragic death or to gain an impossible amount of wealth.

Raymond van Gerrit passes her, clenching his fingers into fists and staring down.

"Is she really Lord Asriel's daughter?" he asks quietly to Ma Costa, narrowing his eyes, and Ma Costa instinctively places her hand over Lyra's head. Pantalaimon, as a lean, spry polecat, gives a tiny mewling noise. Ma Costa's hawk daemon ruffles and puffs his feathers, making a low, hoarse screech.

"Yes."

Ma Costa can smell the jenniver spirit on him, keeping an eye on him as he vanishes out of the Zaal, swaying.

"Did he love me?" Lyra mumbles, faced away from her. Blessed be, she hoped Lyra would stay asleep until morning. "Did my… did Lord Asriel ever _really_…?" There's a kind of pained and childish strain in her voice. "You would know, Ma Costa… you were there…"

"Suppose you'll be wanting the truth, ay?"

Lyra nods, tears spilling hot out of her eyes. Pantalaimon is the only one who sees, curling up to Lyra's face and nuzzling her.

"I didn't hold you throughout the night. I dunno why I said that," Ma Costa admits, brushing her fingers through dark, silky hair and gazing over Lyra. "Your father did." She can feel Lyra stiffen up against her. "Your father pulled you out of the closet and out of my arms and held you close while you and your daemon bawled your little lungs out. He refused to do anything else."

She remembers it as clear as the ray of lamplight hitting Ma Costa's face, when she huddled down and quivered in the nursery's closet. Ma Costa had been twelve years younger, heavyset and lacking any gyptian tattoos for her family name.

Lord Asriel stood there, his jaw and his white, collared shirt flecked in Mr. Coulter's warm blood. The gun smoking. She let out a frightened wail at the sight of the dead, gore-soaked man by Lord Asriel's feet. His brains glistened. He asked for Lyra, and Ma Costa saw that Lord Asriel's blue eyes were full of concern, not mad with rage, so she listened. He carefully maneuvered his baby daughter to his shoulder-front and bouncing her lightly, shushing Lyra as best as he could.

His snow leopard daemon — Stelmaria — pawed him, waiting for Lord Asriel to crouch down and allowing her to inspect the baby and her now baby kitten daemon. She whisper-growled to Pantalaimon, nosing him and calming his own fussing. She licked his creamy-amber fur, giving a throaty, mewling rumble. Lord Asriel watched the interaction with his smile benevolent.

He lifted Lyra once more, cradling her near his face and pressing his lips to her dark, silky head. Lyra gurgled contently, no longer bawling.

_Ma Costa, would you mind fetching the wine?_

She loses herself to the past. For a moment. It had been such a long time ago. Billy had not been conceived until another year and a half after Ma Costa returned to her people, as that of Lord Asriel's estate and all of the land went to another aristocrat who was not being court-fined.

Lyra, stubborn and adventurous and passionate about her interests as her parents, turns in Ma Costa's lap. She glances up in obvious curiosity. "Lord Asriel killed for you without hesitation. To protect you from a murderer in his home. So he had to become one." Ma Costa's pale fingers stroke thoughtfully over Lyra's cheek. "I expect he would do it again if he had to."

"I don't want him to kill anyone," Lyra says solemnly. Her little mouth pinching-tight. "I just want to know why… he never _told me_…"

"You'll have to ask him that yourself. I'm sorry. But I know this much, Lyra… he _loved_ you." Ma Costa chuckles, pinching the tip of Lyra's nose until Lyra grins. "Him and his daemon always staring into your crib and walking you out at night, and _insisting_ on reading to you even if the words couldn't be understood just yet. I was so sure it would you and me and him on those grounds forever."

A flash of grownupnness pierces into Lyra's eyes. "Then someone tried to _kill_ me."

"Hush now."

"Did my…" Lyra hesitates, swallowing hard. Too much weight and painful anguish on such a little girl. "Did Mrs. Coulter tell Mr. Coulter? So he _could_…"

Ma Costa answers, firmly sitting Lyra up, "I doubt it very much." She suspected it once before, and felt shame. No mother could do that to her daughter. She couldn't believe that. "Hush. Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm here… you understand?"

A slow, sleepy nod.

She hugs Lyra to her, biting roughly on her lip and praying, again, again and _again_, for Billy to remember his mother's arms.

This is her world, but it _needs_ these children. All of them to come home.

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End file.
